The Mindy Problem

Whenever her book came out a
friend of mine mentioned that she was reading Mindy Kaling’s, I
guess, memoir?, and I was all, “How is it?” and she was all, “She
is the most self-satisfied person in the world,” which I kind of
discounted because, Women: Who knows what crazy reasons they choose
that day to hate somebody for? But then yesterday I read that
profile of her in New York and I was also all, “Oh my
God, SMUG,” which then made me think, WOULD YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY
ABOUT A MAN? Because men do that shit all the time (although, if
bad social science is to be believed,
they need to) and I never give it a second thought. Which is
when I did give things a second thought: Why am I wasting so much
time thinking about Mindy Kaling? And I am a person who spends most
of his day trying to figure out what the people at Huy Fong put in
their chili garlic sauce to make it so goddamn addictive (at this
point I have narrowed it down to either garlic or chili), so I
certainly have plenty of time to spare. At the end of the day, it
is still TV, which, I’m sorry, is not Shakespeare, no matter
what you tell yourself to justify your investment in that show
where Claire Danes plays the crazy chick working for the CIA or
whatever. Anyway, Mindy Kaling? It doesn’t matter! Good for her.
The first episode of her show seems amusing. It’s nice that Ivy
League grads are allowed to run shows in our racist society. Let’s
all do our best to be happy with what we’ve got. Also,
this is probably right.